


Turn Out the Lights

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Consent Play, First Time, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Hair-pulling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Charles's smile fades slowly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "If you need me to say no," Charles says, "I can do that, Erik."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Out the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> For the "consent play" square on my kink bingo card. Thanks to pocky_slash for beta.

"You don't really want me to do this," Erik says, through the sudden dryness in his throat.

Charles's head reappears as he finishes his struggle with his sweater, letting the fabric fall to the floor between them. It leaves his entire upper body bare, acres of smooth pale skin covering his compact and stocky frame, marked with only the occasional freckle. 

Charles raises one of his eyebrows in a question that does not need to be asked out loud. 

"You don't," Erik says, as he steps closer, reducing the distance between them from feet to mere inches and then to nothing at all as he clasps Charles in his arms. Charles tilts his head up, accepting the kiss, even encouraging it. Charles's hands are on Erik's shoulders, clutching tight for a moment before loosening again, a light touch running down Erik's arms.

Erik ends the kiss, and the loud wet sound of their mouths seems to hang impossibly in the air between them. He shoves Charles - away? forward? - almost violently. The bed is only a few inches beyond Charles's thighs, and Charles sits down upon the edge of the mattress, sudden and hard.

He's still gazing at Erik, not angry, not upset, but that same bright expression Erik has seen day after day as their mission together has gone on. Curiosity, and fascination, and a kindness that prickles Erik all over, itchy like an ill-made wool sweater. Charles watches him like he is still determined to learn Erik, and Erik cannot understand that, not when Charles has known everything about him from the beginning. 

Erik doesn't fear what will happen when Charles decides he's satisfied with what answers he's managed to collect, because Erik does not allow himself to fear it. He packs it away, beyond the immediate goal of their mutant-hunting, beyond his greater ambition to avenge himself against Schmidt, beyond even whatever is happening between them now.

This motel room is like every other they've occupied in these weeks. There's nothing to set it aside, nothing to mark it as special or unique. It is ugly and dark, and the bed Charles sits upon is uncomfortable. God only knows how many sordid and loveless couplings it has been a party to.

Absently, Erik double-checks the locks on the door. 

He steps forward into the space between Charles's thighs and places his hand on the nape of Charles's neck. He would force Charles to look up and meet his eyes, but Charles is already doing it.

"Why don't I want you to do this?" Charles says. His voice is calm, as if he were not half-naked. As if he has not just changed everything between them, made explicit what had laid unspoken between them all this time since those Miami waters. As if he does not believe Erik is capable of damaging him. 

Erik frowns down at him. "You can't," he says simply. He slides his hand up, curling a fist into Charles's hair - Charles's soft, thick hair, lush and overgrown like he is still the schoolboy he's barely outgrown. He yanks at it, once, hard; the sound Charles makes is like nothing Erik's heard before, neither pleasure nor pain, precisely.

He's too busy with Charles's eyes, with the curve of his mouth and the way his tongue peaks out to moisten his red lips, and so he forgets to attend to Charles's hands. It comes as a surprise, then, when he feels Charles's palm against his crotch, warmth and pressure against his hardness through the layers of his trousers and underwear.

Charles lets out a sigh, and the corner of his mouth turns up into something like a smile, as if he and Erik are sharing some kind of joke between them. There's no clumsiness to the way he's groping at Erik; rather, his hands are just as skillful as Erik has always imagined they would be. There's a sense of teasing and a promise to the touch, and it leaves Erik unsteady and a little breathless. Those are two feelings Erik hates, and he fights at them, at the sense that he's losing control, losing _himself_ \- and when he fights them, it's the anger that fills up the emptiness instead, the anger he can always rely on.

Charles's smile fades slowly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "If you need me to say no," Charles says, "I can do that, Erik."

He lets his hands fall from Erik's erection, setting them palm down on the mattress on either side of him. He stares up at Erik, silently waiting.

Erik swallows around the harshness in his throat. He doesn't want to let go of Charles's hair, even now, so he undoes his fly one-handed, calling on his powers to assist him. His trousers fall easily down to his ankle, and he shoves his underwear down to mid-thigh. His cock bounces out, wretchedly hard and humiliatingly eager, as soon as the waistband allows it.

Charles is no longer meeting his eyes. His gaze now is focused, just as determinedly, upon Erik's cock. There's a look of hunger there that Erik cannot process. When Charles licks his lips again, Erik has to stop the reflexive jerk of his hips to push himself closer.

"Erik," Charles says, sounding very far away, "tell me to suck you."

Erik wraps his free hand painfully tight around his erection. "Charles..."

"I won't do it," Charles says softly. "I don't want to taste you, don't want to feel you in the back of my throat, don't want to swallow you down..."

The noise Erik makes sounds savage and vile to his own ears. He yanks Charles forward by the hair, rubbing the head of his cock against Charles's closed mouth until his lips glisten with pre-come. Charles opens his mouth wide, and _he's_ the one surging forward, beautiful mouth now open wide as he takes in Erik's cock with a moan. The moan itself is almost familiar to Erik - so many nights on this trip overhearing sounds like it from the bed across the room, pretending to be asleep, a useless playacting, for surely Charles must have known, must have been aware of Erik's consciousness, and yet he continued _anyway_ , and Erik would not stop him, would stay frozen, listening with a deep selfishness he couldn't understand.

The difference in this moan, though, is that it is not merely noise, but sensation as well, vibration all along the length of Erik's cock, as Charles takes him farther and farther in. His lips reach Erik's fist and pause there in some sort of obscene kiss, before Charles lifts his head back off once more, releasing the head from his mouth with an especially loud and slick noise. Charles sucks in air heavily, wiping at the saliva that's pooled at the corners of his mouth and dripped down his chin, and then he's licking down Erik's cock, nosing at Erik's fingers until Erik lets go.

Everything is wet. There's nothing but Charles's mouth and its pleasures and Erik feels close to panic, searching for something to hang on to, something to steady himself.

"No," Charles whispers, his warm breath another sensation against the so-sensitive skin. "I'm saying no, Erik. I don't want this." He backs up again, and presses his lips against Erik's cockhead in a gentle kiss.

Erik gathers up his control as best he can, and pulls Charles away from his cock with a sudden jerk. Charles whines, though Erik doesn't know if it's because of the pain of the hair-pulling or ... for other reasons.

He lets go of his grip on Charles's hair and steps back, kicking off his underwear and trousers fully and pulling his singlet over his head, so he's completely nude. "Lie down," he orders Charles, and after a moment, Charles obeys, crawling to lie in the middle of the bed and settle on his back.

Charles is still wearing _his_ trousers, and his arousal is both visible and obvious. 

Erik arranges himself carefully atop Charles's body, supporting his own weight with his knees pressed tight on either side of Charles's rib cage. He takes himself in hand and begins to jerk off, slowly enough that it comes close to being more frustration than satisfaction. He tries to close his eyes but he can't do it, so instead he squints them as close to shut as he can manage, and greedily takes in the view beneath him. The uncanny blue of Charles's eyes; the mouth still swollen from sucking him; the notch of his collarbone, the bones through the skin somehow strong and delicate at the same time. When Erik shifts his focus to the tempting length of Charles's neck, Charles responds to the thought, tilting his head in a way that bares his throat shamelessly.

"You don't want this," Erik reminds him. He twists his hand at the end of each stroke, almost viciously against the sensitive head. "You don't want _me._ "

"I don't want you," Charles agrees breathlessly. "I haven't wanted you all this time. I don't think you're lovely, inside and out, and I don't think you're fascinating and brilliant, and I don't -- I don't _want you_ , Erik, any of you, all of you, everything I can get, oh, _Jesus_ , stop torturing us both and come already, you utter idiot--"

And Erik _does_ , orgasm ripped out of him, shocking and violent like tearing a filling out of someone's mouth. The pleasure is so deep, so unexpected, nothing like the perfunctory touches he allows himself a few times a week, nothing like even the awkward fumblings of his younger years, those few times he had spent himself in some poor girl before she learned enough to run away from him.

It feels endless, his semen splashing across Charles's immaculate chest with each discrete spurt of his cock. One jet of come reaches Charles's chin, landing white and sticky, and Erik watches numbly as Charles wipes it up with one finger, which he then sucks into his mouth to carefully clean.

Erik is distracted, obviously. It's the only excuse, for Charles is somehow able to surprise him, to get the better of him, flipping the two of them over on the bed. Erik is on his back, and Charles is on top of him, his weight pushing Erik's body down into the mattress. Charles is surprisingly heavy. Erik tamps down his instincts - caged, bound, _fight him off_ \- and tries to force himself to relax. He trusts Charles - if not fully, then at least as far as Erik feels he is capable of trusting another being.

"Me now," Charles says, thrusting against Erik's hip. "My turn, hmm?"

He kisses Erik, hungry and heavy and sweet, and Erik kisses him in return, bringing his hands up to slide along Charles's sweat-slick back, urging on his smooth, desperate movements.

"Tell me," Charles gasps against Erik's lips, "tell me you want _me_."

"Yes," Erik says, hissing it out like a curse, "Charles, yes."

Charles buries his forehead against Erik's shoulder, biting down as his hips jerk wildly between them, come spreading wet through the fabric of the trousers Charles still wears. Charles sighs as his movements slow and stop, and he turns his head to meet Erik in another kiss, this one lazy and sated.

Charles rolls off of Erik just as Erik is starting to become uncomfortable with his weight, the heat and sweat. Erik swings his legs over the side of the mattress and sits up, hunching a little over himself. His breath is still not coming properly, and there is a queer ache in his stomach. His body is buzzing with adrenaline and other hormones, excitement and pleasure coursing through his veins like he's just run a obstacle course or defeated an opponent. His mind feels muddied, confused; it's a sensation he's slowly grown used to in these past weeks since he met Charles, but with an increase of degree now.

He reaches out to the metal in the room: the room key on the table by the door, the car keys beside. A handful of loose change unearthed from Charles's pockets earlier, detritus of the day, now lying on the nightstand. Erik's own coin, _the_ coin, in his suitcase on the other bed, familiar and unchanging and solid as anything.

"Erik." Charles's voice is low and reassuring behind him. Erik curls his fingers in against his palm, almost meditatively.

"You think there is more to me than there is, Charles," he says quietly. "That is the problem. You're only going to be disappointed."

He can feel Charles shifting behind him, mattress rising and dipping with his movements. "I disagree, my friend," Charles says after a moment. "You - everything that makes your very self - it's much bigger than you believe. I know."

Erik shuts his eyes and shakes his head, as if he can physically shake out the thought somehow. "I don't believe you."

Another movement behind him, and the warning of the warmth of Charles's close body a moment before Charles's lips press a soft, wet kiss between Erik's shoulder blades. Erik shivers.

"Then," Charles says steadily, "I suppose I will have to teach you."


End file.
